By Kyleigh Taylor
August 6, 2018
It’s 8:30 in the morning and I am sitting in the driver’s seat of a 12 foot moving truck parked on the street in front of the Budget of Allston. It was already 79 degrees when I went on a run three hours prior, and, not having showered, my sweat has dried to a white dusting on my calves and arms. Unfortunately I’m only getting saltier because at this moment, while Bostonians zip past me on Cambridge Street on their average Tuesday morning commute, I am crying.
That’s an understatement.
I am keening. Clothes-clenching, hiccup-ridden, eyes-slammed-shut and is-she-going-to-dislocate-her-jaw keening. And I still have two apartments to pack up, four state lines to cross, and three hundred and twenty two miles to go.
Present Day
As I finish the first draft of this piece, I am pulling into South Station, Boston, on a Greyhound bus for my first visit back since I moved. It’s unusually warm for early March in New England (thanks, climate change), but the city is as pristine as always (Bostonions, do you know how good you have it?) and the breeze coming in from the harbor is intoxicating. Standing in front of the train terminal clock at the familiar intersection of Atlantic Avenue and Summer Street, I am a heart-flopping whirl of emotions: both giddy with excitement and somber with nostalgia. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. But I also hadn’t realized how happy I am that I left.
I didn’t have to go. No one had forced me to leave the city I had called home for eight years, and I hadn’t been particularly unhappy. But leaving had been inevitable. It had been inevitable because I could only last so long sitting on my couch and pretending I could simply summon fulfillment and contentment without putting in the work.
Adult life in Boston was not something I had ever truly desired for myself. I moved there for college and simply stayed because it was the easiest thing to do at the time. My career (you know, those three different jobs at which I was piecemeal developing the skills I hoped to propel me on the track I really wanted, don’t we love that gig economy?) was at a standstill. I could stay in my lane, keep working hard, and sure, some promotions would probably come my way, maybe opportunities at different organizations. Good things come to those who wait, and all that jazz, right? Wrong. I was tired of biding my time, and I began preparing for a change.
When did I know it was time to move on? When did I finally decide? WeIl, it wasn’t really a decision. I never asked for anyone’s opinion. I made no pros and cons lists. As I said, leaving had been inevitable. It felt like every year I was hitting a dead end and each new one had me considering taking the leap and moving to Chicago (where I had a support system)... or maybe San Francisco (people I meet always guess I’m from there?)… no wait! Minneapolis (a fast-growing regional theater scene). Finally, an opportunity arose in which my partner was offered a spot in a master’s program, and there was never any question as to whether I’d stay in Boston. No more dead ends for me, I thought! So here I am in Philadelphia.
The process has not been easy. I gave up a couple of steady paychecks (one of which included all the benefits) to hourly pay and inconsistent income again, dug into my savings until there was almost nothing left, and worked the worst job I have ever had for six miserable months. All of which exasperated pre-existing mental health conditions for which I no longer had that health insurance to help address. I know, it sounds like a lot of fun.
But honestly, in the long (year and a half) run, it was worth it, as I knew it would be. About nine months after moving and a lot of work, my life finally began to come together in the ways for which I had been waiting. Contentment is going to mean something different for everyone, but for me it means waking up in the morning to a cup of coffee and a good book, looking forward to my work, learning something new from colleagues who challenge me daily, and ending my day in a home I adore with the partner I love. I could have waited for all that to grace me in Boston, but it benefited me to take the chance on a new city, a new community, when it was offered. I have professional and personal goals that I am actively accomplishing, I can take stock of my own progress, and, at least for now, I’m not hitting any of those discouraging dead ends.
So if I was so sure that making this move was the right thing to find happiness and fulfillment, why was I shuddering, sobbing, and snotting that 90 degree August morning while my partner sat quietly next to me, without condescension or exasperation, occasionally squeezing my hand. Well, I was pee-my-pants terrified to drive a moving truck across George Washington Bridge, duh. If only there had been a banishing spell for sending the contents of our apartments those three hundred and twenty two miles, that I would have taken.
Kyleigh works in front of house operations for theatrical venues and has keys to a lot of the most historic ones in Philadelphia. Her job generally consists of patiently listening to patrons of the arts complain about the temperatures in 150 year old buildings. She can also safely evacuate 2,500 people in under seven minutes. When not conducting post-show chats with the theater ghosts, she's either training for her next marathon or at home with a book and a cocktail.